


Week 4 - Sam Winchester

by DidjaMissMe



Series: SPN Hiatus Creations [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Jogging, Light Angst, Other, Supernatural Hiatus Creations, posting this from mobile so ill fix it later, really just cheesy cliche stuff like thay, relfection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:31:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DidjaMissMe/pseuds/DidjaMissMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could practically hear Dean's scuffle at that, and "Don't be such a girl, Samantha."</p>
<p>And he would pout, pull a bitchface, with a retort "I'm cautious, not scared, Dean." </p>
<p>And he wasn't. Wasn't a girl, that is. Scared? Well, yeah. Who isn't sometimes? And, it wasn't... a bad thing to be, was it?<br/>----<br/>Supernatural Hiatus Creations: Week 4<br/>Sam Winchester</p>
            </blockquote>





	Week 4 - Sam Winchester

_5:45 am_

Sam Winchester looked down at his watch, knowing it would be hours till his brother even dared to start waking up. He finished tying his shoelaces, checked his pocket for the extra motel key, and felt his waistband for his gun stowed behind him. Zipping up his jacket, Sam checked around the room to ensure everything was a-okay.

 

_5:46 am_

Better late than never. The door creaked open, leaving a satisfying click as Sam locked it behind him. He threw his hood over his head, and started walking out of the sketchy motel's dark parking lot. Reaching the street, he pulled a pair of earbuds from his pocket and put them in. The other end was stuck in his pocket, not plugged in - he found them a couple weeks ago, dissapointed they had a short in the wire, but still excited all the same. It somehow...completed the look.

5:48

And he took off.

His feet found a pace, and his heart sped up to catch with it. He didn't need the earbuds to play music. He had the rhythm in his feet, and kept time through steady breathing. Occasionally, a car would pass or a bird would chirp the melody in his natural music, and if he focused long enough on the sounds, he wouldn't get lost in his thoughts. Audio input was more trusting than visual, and Sam learned that he preferred his ears than straining his eyes to search in the dark. He felt that, while training his body, he could train his ears to hear the gun cocking before it fired, or the ghost whispering before it attacked, or the second pair of footsteps to his own before it was too late.

He could practically hear Dean's scuffle at that, and _"Dont be such a girl, Samantha."_

_And he would pout, pull a bitchface, with a retort "I'm cautious, not scared, Dean."_

And he wasn't. Wasn't a girl, that is. Scared? Well, yeah. Who isn't sometimes? And, it wasn't... a bad thing to be, was it? There's been times when adrenaline from their fear is the only thing that saved the Winchesters.

Sam huffed, disrupting his measured breaths, and picked up the pace.

Fear was okay. Fear was understandable. Fear was human.

And that's all he has wanted to be - human. Humans cry, and laugh, and feel. Humans require sleep, and food, and _dammit, exercise, Dean!_ Humans can learn and grow, and have a certain curiousity and thirst for knowledge.

And Sam Winchester was human.

Right?

5:52

He took a sharp turn to the right, disrupting his direction and interrupting that certain train of thought.

He wasn't the boy with demon blood. He was so much more. There was _actual blood_ in his viens, and he could feel it pound against his head as his feet pounding the pavement.

It was _his_ too. It wasn't just a vessel, it wasn't a devil's body.

It's Sam Winchester. Not the apocalypse personified as _fucking Lucifer._

5:54

Another right turn, quick to distract himself and quick to lose his thoughts.

His frustration built with each step, quickening his pace and working his lungs.

Lucifer. Demon blood. Ruby. Dean.

He took his anger out on the cracked sidewalk beneath him, focusing on pushing off of the ground and landing hard on the next step.

thump. His blood.

thump. His choice.

thump. He could choose to shed however, whatever, for whom ever he damn well pleased.

thump. His blood.

_whack._

His footing slipped, and he landed hard on the ground. His hands shot out to catch himself, kneeling on cold pavement, breathing hard. Quick rapid breaths, with quick rapid thoughts, changing as scenes played through his head, of every choice he made, every sacrifice, every mistake.

His blood. His choice. His failures.

 

He failed at being human. He failed at playing the good lawyer. He failed at being a decent hunter. He failed at being a good son. He failed at being a vessel for Lucifer. He failed at being Sam Winchester.

But, at least he rose again, right?  
Yeah, right, you say, as you're lying on the ground.

No.

And so, Sam stood up. He was back on the street the motel veers off from, facing the straight two lanes that face east. He stood up, wiped the dust off his old sweats, and pulled his hood back up.

He rose again.

And as he stared into the first lights of dawn, he realized -

_Thats who Sam Winchester is. The Rising sun. The Morning Star._

6:02

 

and Sam started up thr steady jog once again.

 

 

 


End file.
